


Lost Promises

by MiseryLovesCompany (NorahClark)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9358508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorahClark/pseuds/MiseryLovesCompany
Summary: Whilst training to become no one at the House of the Black and White, a girl underwent many trials. Pain and newly unanswered riddles awaited her around every corner. Still a girl persevered in her task, even when her heart was breaking, because this was of such importance to her...until the day it just wasn't.





	

As with most nights of late, a girl drifted off to sleep quickly, though it was but a light slumber. She knew not how long she had been asleep when she was suddenly awoken by an unusual sensation.

_Cold. Why is it cold?_

She had not been properly cold in many a moon’s turn. Not since the very beginning of the journey in traveling along the King’s Road, away from Winterfell and all she loved. Had she known then what she knew now, she would have cherished that feeling of coldness. For a Stark, the cold meant normalcy. Safety. It meant family and home. But there was no point in dwelling on home. These sorts of thoughts would only lead to feelings of sadness and rage, and Arya…a girl…was now meant to suppress these types of emotions.

_But why IS it cold?_

With that, a girl finally opened her eyes to investigate, and what she saw was the last thing she anticipated. She had somehow relocated from the drearily lit room that she occupied in the House of the Black and White, to what was quite apparently not any place found on Braavos. She could feel cool dirt and grass beneath her body.

_I’m still laying down…how did I get here?_

Her thoughts swam as she stood and noted the presence of thick, tall trees all around. While there was the occasional tree on Braavos, they were all found within the gardens of the mighty. Even then, they were sparsely grown. There were far too many trees around for a girl to still be on Braavos.

A girl had long ago grown used to the lessons so frequently bestowed upon her by both the kindly man and the waif. Though such lessons were often infuriating to a girl, she knew that they only served to further the knowledge a girl would need to serve the Many-Faced God.

_This must be another lesson. How did they get me here without waking me up? They must have gifted me a pinch of sweetsleep._

As she struggled to pinpoint when in the preceding evening her “teachers” might have slipped something into her food or drink, a girl could feel her face rapidly turning from an expression of confusion, to that of frustration. _Calm as still water. Quiet as a shadow._ A girl remembered the oft repeated phrases of her long-ago water dancing instructor. It mattered not how she had been delivered unto her present setting. Only why? At this, a girl resumed her sense of serene curiosity and continued to investigate her surroundings. She quickly found that not only would the temperature and sights around her alert her to a change in setting, but also the sounds of rushing water, which was not altogether unusual. After all, Braavos was far from land-locked.

_But it doesn’t sound like the sea…it sounds like…well, like a river. And what is that…_

A girl audibly gasped as she heard a sound from so long ago. A sound that, since the days of her long forgotten childhood, Arya Stark had only heard in her wolf dreams, and of late, not even then. It was the musical howling voice of her beloved direwolf, Nymeria. From the sound of it, Nymeria must have been very close. A girl soon became desperate to find Arya Stark’s long-since lost companion, calling out to her frantically.

“NYMERIA. Nymeria, where are you?” a girl shouted desperately, while thousands of thoughts flooded through her mind. _Nymeria, please come out to me. I’ve missed you all these years. I didn’t want you to ever leave, but I couldn’t stand to let you die. It was that bloody awful prick of a King, Joffrey. Don’t you worry though, he met his own sticky end. That bloody bastard prince… Oh, but, where ARE you?! I can hear you! You sound so close!_

A girl continued shouting for her beloved, furry companion, constantly hearing the nearby howls of the dire wolf. Soon, a girl concluded that Nymeria must be nearby, but locked up. Whomever had succeeded in containing her fierce wolf must have been a brash individual, but it mattered not. Soon she would find Nymeria, release her, and then Arya would never again leave her side.

 _Except I can’t do that. I’m not even allowed to keep Needle at the House of the Black and White. They’d never let me keep Nymeria with me…even though she would make a very effective assassin._ Disregarding this unpleasant train of thought, a girl continued her search, though quietly, as she did not wish to further forewarn Nymeria’s captors of her presence.

As time wore on, a girl began to lose hope of finding her wolf. She had not heard a sound from her in nigh on half an hour. A girl shifted part of her focus to once again figuring out where she was located. It was obvious that she was in Westeros. It seemed that she was most likely somewhere in the Riverlands. While she did not find it to be uncomfortably cool, it was colder than the last time she was in the Riverlands. It would seem that her dear father was correct. Winter was, indeed, coming.

Arya’s musings were drawn short as she heard the low sound of singing in the distance.

_If I didn’t know better I’d think that that was…but no, it can’t be!_

Arya crouched lower to the ground than she already had been, though she would not have previously thought this possible. As she did such, she realized that she had been crawling along the forest floor, not unlike her direwolf friend. _Old habits die hard, I suppose._ Ducking into a low thicket of bushes, Arya spied the source of the singing. _It IS him. Well, it’s them. I can’t believe it…_

As Arya remained nestled amongst the leaves and dirt, she slowly appraised the group of men in which she was surrounded. There was still no sign of Nymeria, but there certainly were a great many familiar faces all around. The singer, Tom o’ Sevens, was of course present, but so was Lem, still wearing that wretched piss colored--scented was more like—cloak for which he was named. They were both hunkered close to the fire, no doubt trying to gather some warmth before getting what little sleep they would for the night. Over by a far patch of trees, likely standing guard, sat Jack-Be-Lucky.

_He never was the best sentry, with just that one eye. Good thing this lot hasn't much to worry about these days._

Arya continued silently naming faces around the camp to herself, unconsciously searching.

_Likely Luke…Mudge…Dennett…Beardless Dick…Notch…Harwin. Of course, Harwin is still with the Brotherhood..._

It was at that moment that Arya found the very face she had been so resolutely looking for, though, she had not herself realized it mere seconds before.

_Gendry. GENDRY._

Before she even paused to think about what she was doing, Arya rushed forward toward Gendry’s sleeping form. He was secluded toward the edge of the camp.

_He always was a stubborn, foolish, bull. Does he not know how easily someone could get to him, sleeping out here like this?!_

Which was exactly how she was able to get so close to him, so easily, without a soul noticing. Not that Arya could not have found another way of obtaining the same goal, but Gendry’s seeming lapse in judgement had made her endeavor much simpler.

The Bull was laid flat on his right side, facing away from the campfire and into the trees. Arya laid down in front of him, ever so quietly, so as not to wake him. She had no idea what Gendry would do or say if she woke him up. He may not even recognize her.

_It has been years and years, after all. He may not even remember me. Why should he? Stupid little Arry who never did anything but bring him trouble. He was well shod of me. They all were…after all, that is why I went to Braavos. To cross the names off my list, of course, but I was already doing that here, in Westeros. I wanted to make sure that I would never be a helpless little girl ever again. That no one would have to take care of me, or worry about me. Now, no one even has a chance to get put on a list. I just take care of them, straight away. But this lot deserves far better than the likes of me scampering around their camp in the dark of night. Gendry deserves better than to be scared out of his wits by some stupid girl that doesn’t even know how she got back on continent!_

_Speaking of which…if the waif or the kindly man sent me here, they sent me here for a reason. Their reasons are rarely…altruistic. That just isn’t in their nature, as it is not to be in a girl’s nature anymore. We are to give the gift as the Many-Faced God sees fit. Surely they don’t intend for me to give the gift of mercy to a member of the brotherhood. Surely not. I could not. I_ **will** _not. Though that does sound like the sort of test the waif would find particular pleasure in administering._

Arya knew that she should move away from Gendry then. She had already lingered too long, too closely. However, instead of edging away, Arya reached her hand out and lightly brushed it down the side of Gendry’s stubbly face, as though her arm and hand had suddenly become quite independent from her mind. She half-expected to find her arm literally detatched from her body, when Gendry awoke from this untoward, mid-sleep caress, but it would seem that the shock of this evening was to continue.

The Bull did not flinch. He did not open his eyes. Gendry would not have seemed to notice her touch at all, if not for one small action. He very quietly, and serenely…almost like a prayer…breathed out one small word.

“Arya”

At this, Arya sprang back instantly, retreating back to her brushy refuge. How in the name of the seven could he possibly know it was her? He had not once looked at her, she was sure of that. There was no possible way that he could have known she was there next to him. In fact, the Bull was still lying there, sound asleep! So how in seven hells had he known that it was her? Though Arya found this befuddling, she was pleased to realize that he did remember her, if nothing else. Adding this new mystery to the growing list of riddles for the evening, Arya realized that Jack-Be-Lucky was now practically on top of Gendry’s sleeping area.

“Time to ‘ave your watch, Gendry.” said the one-eyed man, as he shook the sleeping man awake.

Gendry yawned violently, but soon he was wide awake, and well stationed in Jack-Be-Lucky’s previous spot. Arya decided that this might be a good opportunity for more observation of her black-haired friend. He was polishing what appeared to be an axe.

_THAT figures._

During Arya’s time in Braavos, she had learned a great many things. One such thing included the truth of Gendry’s parentage. Namely, that he was the son of King Robert.

_He really does look just like him. Well, if he was three times his size, and five times as drunk as the Imp. I always wondered how King Robert and father were friends, but if he was ever like Gendry…I can understand, I suppose._

Gendry’s attention was drawn taut, as four riders suddenly entered the camp. He stood, raising his axe defensively, while simultaneously checking his belt to make sure his sword was at the ready, should he need it.

“Who are you, and what business do you have, walking into our camp so boldly in the middle of the night?” Gendry loudly proclaimed, with more authority than Arya had heard from most high lords.

_Had I any doubts as to his parentage before, that just blew them all from the water._

“Easy, Gendry. It’s just us. We ran across some…trouble…on the way. Couldn’t find a raven to send word ahead. Sorry about that.”

Arya recognized the man speaking to be Thoros of Myr. She had wondered about the red priest when she had not seen him amongst their number earlier, but had assumed he was off on a mission elsewhere. While it would seem that she was correct, she would not have guessed that he would be returning while she was still so nearby. Arya could not place the other three riders, and though one amongst them seemed vaguely familiar, she was fairly certain she had never seen the others.

“S’alright! Sorry I didn’ recognize you, Thoros. M’lady.” Gendry responded, his former commanding presence melting away to reveal an oddly tremulous manner.

_‘M’lady?’ Who in seven hells could that be, and why is Gendry so terrified of her? I know he has never been exactly…well, he did not inherit that aspect of his father’s personality…but he was not usually bloody well petrified!_

Thoros dismounted, and, clapping Gendry on the back with a mirthful laugh said, “Don’t worry, my boy! You were keeping a good watch. Far better than most of the others would do, I am certain. And keep a good watch, we must, for the night is dark and full of terrors.” As Thoros uttered the oft-spoke epitataph of servants of the Red God, he seemed to look off into Arya’s direction, but again, there was no way he could know she was there, for she was well hidden and silent as one of the Stranger’s wives.

Those that had been sleeping grumbled a bit, but no one seemed to want to cause too much of an argument, and so they mostly went back to slumber. The two riders Arya did not recognize set about caring for the horses, and making camp. Thoros had opted to sit with Gendry, over in the trees. The strange, fear-inspiring woman had walked off into the woods by herself.

Against her better judgement, Arya crept along the forest floor to get nearer the woman, so that she might get a better view. Her silhouette was eerily familiar, though Arya still could not place the woman in her memory.

_If only I could get closer without her noticing me…_

As Arya began edging forward, she felt herself being pulled back suddenly, as though someone had grabbed hold of her and was carrying her off. She moved slowly, at first, along the ground, retracing her steps through the camp, and then through the forest, back to where she had originally awoken. It was as though she were traveling back through the evening. Then, all at once, Arya was flying through the night sky on the back of a great scaly beast. If she did not know better, Arya would think herself on the back of a dragon…but dragon’s do not exist. Not anymore. Arya attempted to inspect her circumstances further, but it was as though she were not even in her own body.

_The evening is over. A girl is returning to Braavos. A girl will awaken soon._

Arya could hear the kindly man’s voice speaking in her mind, as clear as if she’d thought the words on her own. She now felt the familiar, moist warmth of the Braavosi air surrounding her, and could tell that she was back resting on the rough board that she called “bed”. A girl slowly opened her eyes, unsure of what would await her, but positive she would not like what she found. What she did see shocked her more than anything she had seen in the preceding hours.

“I looked for you, you know. For years. I knew you were still out there somewhere…but Braavos? I never thought ‘bout Braavos. Dunno why. Should have thought o’ Jaqen H’ghar, your old friend.”

A girl sprung from her pallet of a bed, across her dimly lit room, to forcefully grab the shoulder of the large man who was not even looking at her. No, instead he was leaning on his hand up against a wall, seemingly examining said wall, like the stubborn, stupid bull he was.

“How are you here? How is it possible, when I have just seen you in Westeros with the brotherhood? With Thoros and Jack-Be-Lucky and Harwin and the others?” she exclaimed, without taking a breath.

“How could you have you just seen me in Westeros, when you yourself are in Braavos, ya loon?” Gendry replied with a lopsided grin, taking her face in his hands. “You’re a lot taller than I remember.”

 _Moron._ “I have grown. It has been a few years since last I saw you, you realize.” As she said this, she remained stationary, not wanting to give Gendry any reason to remove his hands from her face, though he did anyway, opting to tug on the ends of her hair.

“I see you’re still wearing your hair on the short side. Though no one would dare mistake you for a boy anymore.”

“I don’t need anyone to mistake me for a boy anymore.” a girl responded, softly. “After all, that is why I came here.” At this, she moved away from Gendry, not wanting him to see what was left of what emotions she could not conceal from the outside world.

“Arya…”

“What? Why did you come? Just to say hello? To make sure I am still alive? To settle some sort of wager with Anguy or Lem? Out with it, Bull!”

“I came…to apologize.”

At this, she let out a malevolent laugh. “For what, pray tell?”

“…well, for not listening, I suppose. For not leaving. For not helping you get to your family.”

“You honestly think I needed your help?” “Most likely not. S’pose you never really needed anyone, once you’d learned to walk and feed yourself, but I should have helped you, all the same.” Gendry was now sitting on her bed, holding his own face, and she found that she could not stand letting him look so dejected.

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why should you have helped me, despite my not needing the help?”

“Because of what you told me. ‘I could be your family.’ You offered to be my family. I hadn’t ever had a family, and you knew that, and I knew you knew that, and still…I still just rejected it, because I was scared. I thought you’d take it back once you got back to your real family. Maybe you would have, and maybe you wouldn’t have, but that don’t matter. You already were my family. Still are, to me.”

She felt a tear hotly trickling down her face, as more words than she had ever heard this bull of a man speak at once came flooding out of his mouth. He grabbed her hand between both of his then, entwining their fingers. “Arya, come home. Come back to Westeros with me. Please? You don’t belong here, living with a bunch of assassins.”

Though she stiffened, she did not remove her hand, for she enjoyed his touch more than she ought. She thought on his words for a very long time, with Gendry watching her in silence.

“Gendry, I have no home. Winterfell has belonged to others for many a moon’s turn now. Where would I go? I have no desire to rejoin the brotherhood. I can honestly say I much prefer the faceless men, accepting you, of course.”

“We could go anywhere, Arya. I just want to be with you.”

Taking a deep breath, a girl rose. “No, Gendry. As much as Arya Stark wants to go back to Westeros and be with you, a girl cannot. A girl has dedicated her life to the service of the Many-Faced God, and Arya Stark no longer exists.”

Gendry rose then, as well, facing a girl. A smile slowly spread across his face, leaving a girl momentarily perplexed, until he lifted his hand and peeled back his face to reveal that it was not Gendry in her room at all, but the waif.

“I am so very glad to hear you say that,” the waif said with her customary malicious smirk. “Perhaps his sacrifice wasn’t such a waste after all.”

“His sacrifice?!” a girl screeched, grabbing the waif’s forearm. “What did you do to Gendry?!”

“I did nothing to the Bull. He was looking for you, he found you…he paid the price for that task. Besides, a girl should have no concern over Gendry Waters. He was a friend of Arya Stark’s, and she no longer exists.”

The waif turned on her heel, now free from a girl’s grasp, and left the room. A girl sank back onto her bed, hugging her knees to her chest.

_She’s right. Gendry does not matter. I am no one. No one has no friends. No one has no family. Gendry does not matter to no one. Gendry does not matter to no one. Gendry does not matter to no one…_

* * *

 

“Finally, a girl is No One,” uttered the kindly man, with a small, but proud, smile growing across his face.

_He thinks he’s won. He thinks they’ve been right all this time. That their little games would succeed, and I would become their pawn. For so long, even I believed that this would be, but no, that a girl will not do._

“A girl is Arya Stark, of Winterfell, and I’m going home,” she stated clearly, showcasing a cold, resolute stare. Still, the kindly man continued to exhibit his pride-filled smile. Arya could no longer take this. She had been gone long enough; neglected her friends…her family…her homeland…for far too long.

_It is time for me to go back to Westeros… First, I will take care of that abominable snake, Walder Frey, and then I will get to the bottom of the waif’s last riddle. I_ **will** _find out what has truly happened to Gendry. I must._

With that, a girl walked out of the House of Black and White for the last time. Stepping into the warm Braavosi sun, Arya Stark headed toward her future, looking very much forward to what awaited her for the first time in what seemed like forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I have not attempted to write anything to completion in a great many years, having been buried under academia for the past decade. That being said, I'm very rusty on my "creative" writing, so I more than welcome any and all constructive criticism, suggestions, thoughts, etc. :)


End file.
